


Under the Weather

by taylorhorliikkk (oneswhonever)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Crying Michael, Insecure Ashton, M/M, Mild Smut, Protective Michael, Sad Calum, Sad Luke, Sad Michael, Sickfic, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:46:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3370037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneswhonever/pseuds/taylorhorliikkk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I thought it was just a cold."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Partly Cloudy

Michael Clifford had a headache.

He loved concerts and performing for the fans, really, but he just wished he were somewhere else. They were set to go on in less than ten minutes, give or take, and everything that could be going wrong was. Calum had managed to knock his bass out of tune, Luke had lost the shirt he was meant to wear on stage (how the hell you lose a shirt you just had five minutes ago is far beyond Michael's comprehension), and Ashton must have dust in his lungs because he won't stop coughing. That has to be the worst of it all, honestly, and Michael doesn't like to admit it because it's not like the oldest boy can help it, but _seriously_. You haven't experienced torture until you have a pounding migraine and there's someone in the same vicinity as you having coughing fits - and wheezing in between them, no less. 

He can't place all the blame on Ashton, however, for everyone is at fault in this situation. Luke will _not_ stop whining. He liked that shirt, it was supposedly one of his favorites, and it's just vanished into thin air. Their stylist looks like she's about ready to rip out her hair, honestly, and every thirty seconds she's asking Luke where he last saw it - even though it should be pretty obvious, at this point, that the youngest lad has _no fucking idea_. Michael wants to intervene, jump in and say that he should just wear another damn shirt for the time being, but all his arguments would fall on deaf ears, as they tend to do. Calum was sulking and trying to get his instrument back in tune for the show, and while he wasn't complaining much, save for a few grumbles under his breath, the plunking out of sour notes was really beginning to hurt Michael's head even more. To say that the blue-haired lad was getting annoyed would be an understatement.

"Ash," one of the stagehands was saying, but he was hard to hear over the coughing, the horrendous sound of something that was meant to be an A string, and the complaining that had yet to stop. Michael doubted that the smallest lad could even hear over his own pitiful noises, to be honest. The caramel-haired lad had his fist covering his mouth, and was back into another fit. "Maybe we should just get someone to step in for you; you don't sound so well."

Fucking _honestly_!

Michael wasn't about to discourage Ashton from playing; he loved drumming, just like Michael loved his guitar. However, there was only so much a person could handle. On top of the coughing, Ashton looked dead tired and like he could collapse on the floor at any given second. It took a lot of energy to be banging on a drum set for a few consecutive hours and Michael wasn't sure the eldest boy had it in him.

Like he expected, however, Ashton was quick to deny. "It's just a tickle. I'm fine." However, as soon as he said that, he let out a particularly dry cough that he was quick to cover with his elbow. The stagehand, Andrew, cocked up an eyebrow in question, and Ashton wheezed. "I'm _fine_."

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince Andrew, at this point. Michael wasn't about to point that out, however - it wasn't really his place to do so. He did his best to tune out the conversation upon noticing that Luke and Calum were utterly oblivious to what was going on (how the hell they couldn't hear Ashton hacking up his lungs was a mystery; maybe they were simply trying to ignore it). Michael leaned back on the couch and slid his phone out of his front pocket in an attempt to distract himself from the surrounding chaos.

Luke's dilemma would not be resolved the way he had hoped - he simply had to go on stage with a different shirt on and suck it up. Calum had, thankfully, managed to get his bass back in tune, with only five minutes to spare before going on. Ashton's cough would not subside, and the boys were definitely beginning to take notice. They expressed their concerns, but Ashton waved them off with a simple flick of the hand - saying that he was all good; just a scratchy throat.

"So it's not a _tickle_ ," Michael mused. Calum and Luke gave him weird looks. Ashton said nothing.

Michael sighed, and rose from the couch. It was going to be a long, long night.

-~-

The concert, thankfully, went off without too much of a hitch.

If Ashton had been coughing no one had noticed, save for a few times when Michael would look back between songs and realize that he was covering his mouth with his elbow, and had managed to play the whole set as flawlessly as he normally did. Calum's bass behaved and stayed in tune the entire show. Luke was still a bit peeved about the shirt ordeal, and found it necessary to tell the audience about his dilemma - earning him more than a few screams about playing the show shirtless. 

Michael was glad, at the very least, that nothing had gone seriously wrong, particularly with Ashton (he isn't sure why but during the show he had been expecting the music to just cut and look back to see Ashton lying on the ground; call him paranoid, but it's whatever). As soon as they were off the stage however, Andrew was waiting with cough medicine and water.

Ashton looked like he was going to cry when Andrew told him that the car was out front, waiting to take Ashton back to the hotel.

"What? No," the caramel-haired boy protested. Michael couldn't help but to listen, and this time, Luke and Calum were just as interested as he was. "I don't want to go back. I'm fine. I want to stay and watch. Support the boys."

Michael opened his mouth to cut in, but as expected, Andrew beat him to it. "Ash, you have the entire rest of the tour to watch their sets. I want you to go back to the hotel and take care of yourself. They'll understand."

It was silent for a moment, and for a split second Michael thought Ashton would give in and go back. He should have known better, honestly. " _No_ ," the smallest lad stressed, his arms crossing over his chest firmly. It was pointless to argue with him when he had his mind set, and Michael thought making Andrew aware of this fact was _well_ overdue. "I told you I'm fine. I'm staying."

"Ashton," Michael finally jumped in before Andrew could so much as open his mouth. "He's right. Come on. I'll go with you."

Honestly, he wasn't expecting the relent. However, Ashton's shoulders slumped and he began making his way towards the exit, noticeably in a foul mood. Michael didn't say a word, and neither did Luke or Calum, as he stalked after his best mate, shoving his hands into his pocket. He wanted to watch the lads perform, sure, but not while Ashton was evidently feeling shitty.

The stalk out to the car was silent, as a few of their bodyguards escorted them outside. They were left alone, as Michael had expected, but you could really never be too sure. He didn't say anything, and neither did Ashton, even when they were inside the car and on their way to the hotel. Ashton had swallowed down the cough medicine, without complaint, and Michael knew it would take awhile for it to kick in, but Ashton's coughing only seemed to be getting worse. Every so often Michael would glance up from his hands and catch a glimpse of their driver wincing, undoubtedly a reaction to the hasty noises. 

Michael sighed. It really _was_ going to be a long night.


	2. Mostly Cloudy

It was painful for Michael to have to hear the coughing.

In the hotel, he shared a two-room suite with Ashton; who, upon returning to the hotel, immediately went to his room, showered off, and got in bed. It was late, yes, but it still wasn't the time Ashton normally went to bed, and it was a concern for Michael. Partially because, from the way things sounded, Ashton wasn't even sleeping - chances were that he was probably just laying in bed, hacking up his lungs. He had taken the cough medicine, Michael made sure of it, but it clearly wasn't helping him any. In fact, the older lad's condition appeared to have only gotten worse.

Michael didn't know what to do. Rarely ever did Ashton get sick; it was he, after all, who took care of someone else if _they_ were sick. Suffice to say that the blue-haired lad had never done this before and didn't have the slightest idea of where to start. He thought that maybe he should make Ashton some soup, or something, but they didn't even have any soup on hand. Or tea. Or anything of use, really. All they had was water and cough medicine, and Ashton appeared to be developing a great discontent for Michael insisting on shoving water bottle after water bottle in his face and making him drink. Michael wasn't sure if over-hydrating a person was possible, but they would find out soon enough.

He considered running down to a shop, maybe seeing if the little convenience store in the hotel had anything (probably not; that would be _too_ convenient). He couldn't leave Ashton alone, though - he was a fully functioning human being, sure, but Michael was concerned for him. He could ring one of the boys, Luke or Calum would gladly bring Ashton some soup and whatever else he needed, but the two were still at the show and even if they did hear their phones, Michael didn't really want to pull them away.

Ultimately he decides on ordering room service. The soup isn't exactly cheap, especially considering _all it is_ is cheesy broccoli, but hey. He's not paying for it.

He places the order, and while he's at it, orders himself a sandwich and gets two teas for himself and Ashton. What he knows about taking care of sick people is very little, but he personally loves tea when he's got a sore throat and despises caffeine, so he figured that he made the right choice. He would just have to find out when the time came.

In that moment, however, it was time to take care of Ashton. He went into the drummer's room, and winced at the sight before his eyes. Ashton had himself mostly buried underneath the covers, the only thing poking out being his head. Even so, Michael could tell that he was curled into himself. He was wheezing, and by the sounds of it, was having a hard time breathing. Michael wondered if maybe using an inhaler could be beneficial, but even so, he was almost positive that none of the lads kept one on hand. He could potentially go downstairs, to the room that the two bodyguards who had escorted them back to the hotel were staying at - they were probably a ton more prepared, after all. If, however, they had nothing, it would be a big waste of time. 

So, Michael settled with perching himself on the edge of Ashton's bed, sitting absolutely still as he watched the rise and fall of the older lad's chest. Ashton didn't seem to be paying much attention to him, his eyes were adverted and trained on the far wall. That was fine - whether or not Ashton cared to look at him was near the bottom of Michael's priority list. Presently, there wasn't a whole lot he could really do about the situation until the soup and tea arrived, so he stayed still at the edge of his mate's bed, feeling ultimately useless and almost disliking himself for it. 

He couldn't help but wonder if Luke or Calum could potentially take better care of Ashton that he could, and he almost considered giving them a ring. He took a quick glance at the clock on Ashton's bedside table, and the blinking neon green numbers told him that the boys had about two hours, give or take, left of their show. Michael decided that it really wasn't even worth it.

"What are you _doing_?" Ashton's voice, more raspy than normal, cut into his thoughts, and Michael almost jumped. He gave a weak shrug of his shoulders as a response, not keen on admitting that he was afraid that if he left Ashton alone his lungs would collapse, or some shit. It's not in Ashton's personality to deny anyone's company, even when he's sick, so Michael knew that it would be fine if he stayed.

"I ordered room service," he announced, and even though Ashton tried to hide it, he saw the look of distaste on his face. "Nothing your throat wouldn't be able to handle, of course. Just some soup."

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Ashton murmured, pulling the blankets up to his neck. Michael sighed, having known that Ashton's pride would be an issue from the get-go. He opened his mouth to interject, but Ashton wasn't done. "But...thank you."

Michael had a feeling that this would be the only hint of gratitude he would get from Ashton for a long time to come.


	3. Chance of Rain, 20%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note;
> 
> I apologize for not updating this in such a long time, but believe me, I do have a reason. On top of finishing up the school year and going through a mental health crisis, my laptop broke. It's a processor error that isn't worth fixing, given the general quality of my laptop. Until I can get a new one, my mom has lent me hers to use for summer homework (AP classes are fun, aye?). 
> 
> I apologize again for the delay, but I promise that this long of one will not occur again. x

By the time Ashton had eaten and fallen asleep, Michael was still wide awake and preoccupied with his thoughts.

In all honesty, he was beginning to run out of ideas of what to do. He wasn't a doctor, and didn't know what was best for his elder band mate. He didn't presume that there was any danger in bringing Ashton to the hospital, just to be sure that there was nothing severely wrong with him. It did occur to him that it could draw some negative attention and if the fanbase got word that Ashton was in the hospital, it was sure to induce some hype that was definitely not needed. Michael didn't want to put the boys in that position, and especially when one of said boys was already miserable enough. 

Michael decided that he would wait until the boys got back to the hotel to decide on what to do. He presumed that they would have some better ideas than he did. He did what he could for the moment, and whether or not it was helping Ashton - well, he wasn't sure. He would have to wait until his mate woke up for that. At the same time, he reckoned that maybe all Ashton needed was to sleep. Insomnia could really do a number on you, and Michael knew that all too well. Maybe when Ashton woke up, he would be back on his feet and ready to roll. 

Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Michael was good at wishful thinking.

The blue-haired lad was lounging on the bed in his own room, the door creaked open so that he could hear Ashton, scrolling through twitter on his mobile. The fans were raving about the show, and by the way things were sounding, One Direction was getting ready to finish up their set. They may have already. The sooner the others came back to the hotel, the better. Michael was doubting his ability to take care of Ashton on his own. 

_You're making it sound like he's a child. He's not incapable of doing things for himself. You're making this out to be such a big deal when it's probably just a stupid cold. Get over it already._

Michael scowled uselessly at his own conscious. He didn't think his behavior was that irrational. He could remember getting sick or injured as a child, and even when he personally thought it was for the most ridiculous reasons (more often that not the flu), his mother would _always_ take him to the hospital. She claimed that you could never really be certain. At the time Michael thought it was downright ridiculous - having a headache doesn't automatically mean you have brain cancer, after all - but as he got older, he grew to understand the precautions. Still, he feared that the other boys would make fun of him for wanting to take Ashton to the hospital. It was only a cough.

_A cough could mean anything. A cold, the flu, strep throat, pneumonia, lung cancer-..._

Sometimes Michael wished the voice in his head wasn't so opinionated. Surely if there was something _seriously_ wrong with Ashton, they would know it. His coughing would be more violent, he'd look more sickly...

As Michael was in his state of internal crisis, his mobile began to vibrate. With a heavy blink of the eyes, he took a glance at the caller ID, and answered immediately upon realizing that it was Luke. "Where are you? Are they almost done? When are you coming back to the hotel?"

"Whoa, Mikey," Luke laughed on the other end, and Michael didn't understand _what in the hell_ was so funny about the situation. Admittedly, he was probably panicking a bit too much given the circumstances, but it's not like he could help the worry. Luke shouldn't have been laughing at him - something bad could have happened to Ashton, for all he knew. "Where's the fire?"

"Don't fuck around with me, Luke. I'm not in the mood."

Michael hated to admit that he was being crosser than what was probably necessary, but he tended to get that way when he was worried about someone - especially when that someone was Ashton. It did the trick, however, and Luke wasn't laughing anymore.

"What's happened?" the blonde inquired, a hint of worry beginning to seep into his own tone. Michael almost felt bad; he didn't want anyone to worry that something was seriously wrong, because more likely than not, it was just a cold. Hopefully. "Is there something wrong with Ash? The lads are done - we were going to grab a bite to bring back to the hotel, but we don't have to. Is Ash okay? What's happened?"

A rambling Luke was never a good thing. Michael sighed. "He's okay. I got him to eat and take a nap. He-..."

Michael paused when he heard the sound of the shower start up in the other room, and his heart dropped down to the very pit of his stomach. He hadn't even heard Ashton get up, and in retrospect, that could have been a good thing. That meant he didn't hear Ashton coughing, which could potentially mean that he simply wasn't coughing anymore. Maybe Michael's presumption about sleep (or lack thereof) was correct. 

Forgetting entirely that he was on the phone with Luke, who probably wasn't particularly at ease, Michael strode into the Ashton's room and promptly made his way over to the bathroom door. In spite of the creep factor that was painfully evident, Michael couldn't resist pressing his face up against the door, listening for a cough or any signs of distress from Ashton. He didn't hear anything that sounded even remotely similar to what he had been hearing earlier. In fact, he didn't really hear anything besides the pounding of water hitting the shower floor. He didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing, but given the circumstances, he tried to remain optimistic. That didn't mean he was going to jump to conclusions, however. 

He continued to listen.

It was the sound of Luke's frantic voice that ended up pulling him out of it. Quite frankly, he had forgotten that he was on the phone with the blonde. He stepped away from the door, making sure he could hear the shower still, and raised the phone back up to his mouth. 

"Shit, sorry mate," Michael breathed heavily, almost exasperated. Worrying took too much energy, honestly. Still, he had to assure Luke that this wasn't the impending apocalypse. "He's in the shower. I just heard it start up."

It was a presumably good sign that Ashton had enough energy to get himself up and into the shower in the first place, yet Michael remained wary. Even though the chances of something being seriously wrong with Ashton were slim to none, it was the _slim_ chance that was getting to him. The mere thought that Ashton could be seriously sick was enough to make Michael's stomach twist up in knots.

Michael could hear Luke draw in a harsh breath, but before he could say anything, a sudden crash from the bathroom stunned Michael so badly that he dropped his phone on the ground. It was almost an instinct for him to rush to the bathroom door and he didn't even think about Ashton being naked as he threw the door open. Without breathing even once, he drew back the shower curtain. Just as he thought, Ashton was lying on the floor of the shower, water pounding onto his nude body. He laid there with a hand, curled into a fist, pressed into his mouth as he coughed and hacked. He was curled into himself, and between the coughing Michael could detect painful sounding whimpers.

He advanced forward, preparing to take Ashton out the tub, but the elder lad protested upon seeing him there. "Michael! What are you doing? Get-!"

Ashton interrupted himself with his coughing, just as violent as before. It sounded as if he had dust in his lungs. With a cringe, Michael ignored the protesting and scooped Ashton up into his arms, trying to ignore his nakedness. He set him on the floor, and wrapped a towel around Ashton's shaking shoulders before turning off the shower. He took a quick glance over Ashton's body, trying to search for any injuries that may have resulted from his fall. There was nothing. Nothing but the awful coughing. 

Michael didn't realize at that moment that those sounds would grow to define his life over the next few months. Maybe the next few years.


End file.
